


Hey There Demons

by Patchouli (lifelesslyndsey)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Buzzfeed Unsolved Supernatural, Demon Stiles Stilinski, Demonic Possession, Ghost Hunters, M/M, Stiles is a demon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 03:33:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16865341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifelesslyndsey/pseuds/Patchouli
Summary: In which Stiles is a demon, and Derek has no idea.





	Hey There Demons

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MissusMonster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissusMonster/gifts).



> Wrote this for my buddy Lacy, who has shown me the light with Buzzfeeds Supernatural Shane and Ryan. 
> 
> Will probably continue because they're fun to write.

Stiles meets Derek on the oldest covered bridge in Birmingham, Colorado.  It’s a rickety old fuck of a structure, steeped in rumor and colloquial awe. The Goat Man, a terrifying demon known to eat small children and terrorize any who dare set foot upon a single, rickety plank of his bumblefuck bridge. Stiles is maybe spray-painting a dick along the side in neon-green. A big ole’ lime green shclong, complete with semeny detail. Stiles’ is no artist, but it’s pretty good if he does say so himself.  It even glows in the dark. Fucking Goat Man. Ha. The only danger to be found on the fucking bridge are the wood-rotted planks, and numerous rusty nails. Small towns, and their small town hocus pocus bullshit.

 

To be fair - Stiles ate the Goat Man like forty years ago.

 

“What---What are you _doing_ ?”  It’s the angriest whisper Stiles has ever heard, and he lifts his head up from where he’s laying belly-down on the slanted roof, to find a group of backwood teenagers with video cameras - in this day and age, honestly - glaring up at him behind the recently installed (last twenty years anyway) safety rails. One of them - the guy - hisses at Stiles, eyes going wide. “Oh my _God_. Is that a---”

 

Stiles snickers as the religious epitaph skates over his skin like a fond little tickle. He _almost_ remembers when it hurt. “Should I add a vein, or do you think that’s overkill? What about balls?”

 

“Overkill---” The blonde girl snorts. Her hair is curled in perfect waves and her lipstick is a tasteful maroon matte made to match the dark velvet of her dress. Stiles can almost smell the Bed Bath And Beyond sage stink hanging around her. She buys her crystals on Amazon, he’d bet you a fucking _dollar_. Still. She looks amused by his glow-dick, her painted mouth pulled into a very pretty smirk.  “Dude - do you know what you’re laying on?”

 

“Uh. I don’t know?” Stiles rolls onto his back and curls himself up, twisting his body until he’s sitting, facing them. It’s not a particularly elegant maneuver but the teenage body he’s been riding for nearly half a decade has never been the most agile of young men.  Stiles had hoped he’d grow into it - or it would grow into itself, at the very least. But no. Gangly as ever. “A potential tetanus shot?”

 

“It’s the Goat Man’s bridge, _you fuck_ ,” the other girl barks at him, hands balled at her side, genuine outrage all over her face. “The Demon of the Goat Man? What are you, a fucking idio---”

 

“Cora.” The guy sighs, lowering his camera. He’s wearing a leather jacket and Stiles thinks he looks good enough to crawl into.  “Can you just get down? We’re trying to film here.”

 

Stiles snickers again, and spreads his legs across the slant of the roof. “The Goat Man,” he confirms, earning triple nods. “What? You think I’m gonna scare him off or something? Think the poor wittle baby demon won’t want to come out and play because of me?” They wouldn’t be wrong in thinking so, actually.

 

“That’s it---” The Angry Girl mutters, and the guy catches her by the back of her sweater before she can hop the safety rail. “Let me go - I’m gonna push him off.”

 

“And steal the Goat Man’s thunder?” Stiles lurches forward, cackles when they hiss in sharp surprise. “What were you planning on doing anyway? Gently summoning him? Bribing him? You gotta tin can in your pocket, or something?”

 

“There are---There are rituals,” the guy defends on a slight sputter, hand spasming over his camera. “Christ. Can you just get off the damn roof? I need this for my Acute Fear Reactions final.”

 

“Well go on. Do your ritual.” Stiles nods his approval, leaning on his hands. “I’m just gonna hold my seat here, if you don’t mind. You do your thing. I’ll do mine.”

 

“Whatever,” Cora mutters, yanking herself out of the guys grip and moving back just enough to elbow him in the gut. “Fuck him. I didn’t sit in a car listening to Derek’s Cock Rock metal for four hours for nothing.  Let’s just do this shit.”

 

“You know,” the blonde one says slyly, throwing a wink up Stiles way. “Teenage hostility is suppose to encourage malevolent spirits. All that bad energy. You’re basically a hotbed for demonic possession, Cora.”

 

“And you’re a hot bed for genita----” The guy kicks Cora in the back of the leg before she can finish that sentence. “Whatever. Get the chalk, Erica. It’s almost time.”

 

“Ahhh yes,” Stiles calls, as they disappear under the cover of the bridge. “The witching hour. Is cliche part of your final, _Derek_ ?”  The word slithers up out of Stiles mouth like a serpent, and Derek doesn’t know it - but Stiles taken a little part of him to keep. And he supposes he can’t really contest the conspiracy behind the witching hour, can he? He’s up, after all, desecrating a shambling ruin - at three in the morning. _Spooky_.

 

He doesn’t watch, just lays himself across the roof and looked up into the cloud-sticky sky.  He can feel it through, the lines of the pentagram. It’s almost soothing, like fingertips over the skin.  Erica draws with a practiced hand, neat, straight lines and smooth, even circles. It’s a very well done pentagram and would have absolutely annoyed the shit out of Goat, were he still around and kicking.

 

“You do it, Derek,” Erica says, with firm confidence. “Your Latin is better.”

 

“My Latin is _fine_.” Cora seems to take offense to that, or perhaps she just takes offense to everything.  Erica wasn’t wrong, exactly, when she called the girl a hotbed for possession. There’s something decidedly alluring about anger and ain’t nobody do intense, abyssal belligerence like hormone-riddled teenagers. It’s demon crack. Misery loves company, after all. “Fine. Derek can do it.”

 

Derek sighs. The deep, gusty sort of sigh that says he’s never won a fight in his entire life. He’s just as much demon bait as the angry girl; sweet, beaten-down misery. _“Hoc daemonium sunt. Quia nesciunt quid faciunt. Non uti. Omne cladis est. Hoc daemonium daemonium. Bonum daemonium. Ego autem stagni can._ ”

 

 _Gawd_ , Stiles thinks. The dude’s Latin _is_ good. Almost perfect, if not a little nasally. It’s spoken like someone who was taught by someone who was taught by someone who never heard it spoken, only read. It’s technically correct, nigh flawless, but not quite Stiles’ mother tongue. So close though, so provocatively close. It runs over Stiles skin, a soft tickling sweep that settles in his balls and it’s not the first time he’s gotten a boner during a summoning, but it’s always a shocker. Like - they did not cover that in Demonic Rituals 101.  Derek’s spell is gentle, a soft and curious lovers’ touch, and it’s picking up interest in where this reality sits against the other. The bridge isn’t haunted, but the last demon left a gash just ready to be infected. That’s why Stiles is here, thoroughly marking this bitch as his own. Like - he fuckin’ dares another demon to get up on this bitch. This bridge is his.

 

 _“Hoc daemonium sunt,”_ Derek says again, and Stiles feels strangely compelled to obey. Because he already sort of feels like he’s getting a very teasing beej, and he kinda wants to know where else this little invocation could go.  The backseat of his jeep, for a start.

 

He doesn’t, of course. He lets them finish, lets the silence eat up the night as they wait, tense and skittish, for something to happen.

  


“Do you think it worked?” Cora whispers, harsh voice grating like sandpaper in the quiet. English is an ugly language. They spook and scuffle at every little sound, the birds in the trees, the wind catching the old, rattling rails.

 

Tension builds in the air, not unlike the orgasm hanging out in Stiles balls. Erica speaks next, voice thin.  “It’s been like ten minutes. Should we do it again, you think? Derek - do it again.”

 

“ _Hoc daemonium sunt.”_ He’s annoyed now, and it bleeds angry into his voice.

 

It feels a lot like getting his asshole licked this time, and Stiles slaps his hand down on the loose shingles in surprise. He laughs at the shrieks, and at the cacophony of dusty, choked sputters from below.

 

“That’s an _invocation_ ,” he hollers down, leaning forward to see them as they spill back out of the bridge. And boy is it invocation of all sorts of things.  “They’re...you know. Polite. _Friendly_ .” Very friendly. Too friendly. Sends a demon all sorts of mixed signals. Where the hell did they find that summoning spell? “It’s a fucking demon, friendos. You need an _evocation_.”

 

“We don’t want to make it mad,” Erica tells him, helpfully, where as the other two just glare at him with matching eyebrows. “Friendly seemed like the right approach.”

 

“It’s a fucking demon, Blondie.” He can’t help the incredulity that bleeds into his voice. “It’s already fucking mad.  That’s like --- that’s it’s fucking thing. Being mad is kind of what it does.” Stiles remembers it, being so young and so angry all the time. It had taken many, many, many years and a great deal of eating other demons to earn any sort of chill.  Stiles chill is tentative at best.

 

“Would you just shut up and let us do this?” Cora hisses up at him, head tilted back to glare at him properly. She’s pretty too - but the scary kind of pretty that boys probably avoid.

 

“S’never gonna work.” He scrambles, bracing his feet wide to hold his balance on the slant. “It’s not a fucking tea party. You can’t just ask it to come play.” Although - the Goat Man, while being very... _shy_...was also very food oriented. So who the fuck knows. Maybe it would have worked.

 

“You think you can do better?” Erica asks coyly, as Derek’s camera pans up to take in Stiles. He has a very steady hand. Stiles wonders if he’s filming in night-vision, or relying on the single street light.

 

Yeah, he thinks. He can do better. He snickers as he tugs the button open on his jeans, and draws the zip. “You wanna see a demon. You gotta---you gotta piss it off. Gotta really make it mad.” He grins into the darkness, imagines the Goat Man were still alive. “Hey there Demon,” Stiles calls, as he pulls out his half hard dick, and proceeds to piss off the roof of the Goat Man’s Bridge. “It’s me. Ya boy, Stiles.”

 

***

 

He savors the little silence before the chaos breaks free. Cora looks like she might bust a capillary in her left eye, as she jumps back from the splash zone. “What the fuck---”

 

“Come out come out,” Stiles calls, and he can feel the answering push, skittery little bottom rung shadow demons sniffing at the circle, not sure if they should obey or run away into the night. They’re not like he is, not even remotely. They’re weak, more like animals than anything else. Stupid and weak and angry and foraging after his scraps like coyotes.  He was like them once, so long ago. “I’ll take a fucking shit on this bridge, I swear. This is _my_ bridge. This is my bridge now. Lil’ kids are going to tell stories about _me_ , you useless goat fucker.” They will. They _do_. Stiles is the stuff boogie man nightmares are made of. He tucks his dick back into his jeans, leaves the button undone like a promise, and slides down the shingles where the roof lips out decoratively. It’s a short jump from the light pole and he makes it without much thought for his borrowed, breakable human bones, sliding down too fast, reveling in the friction burns eating up his palms. “Goat Man, Goat Man, stuck his dick in a tin can,” Stiles sings, even as his feet hit the loose, dusty gravel. “Goat Man, Goat Man, stuck his cock in livestock. Sorry, sorry. The rhyme scheme is off. I’m coming up with this on the fly.” He zips up his pants as he says it, patting the fly with a grin. He does love a pun.

 

“Are you---Are you fucking insane?” Cora hisses, eyes wide in her head. She has the same human stink as Derek, and so Stiles knows them for brother and sister. “You don’t---You don’t fucking...what are you even---You can’t _taunt_ demons.” Cora wants to believe, he realizes. She wants to believe, but she’s never seen anything to consider proof. It makes her angry. “This is just---just _disrespectful_.”

 

“It’s a demon, Debbie Downer,” Stiles hums, kicking at the gravel. “It wants to eat your face off and wear you like a prom dress.”

 

The pretty blonde - Erica - looks genuinely scared. A believer then, nothing remotely skeptic and he wonders what she’s seen to put that look on her face. She’s taken a step back from the other two, hands folded over each other, and pressed to her chest. She buys her crystals on Amazon, and her sage from Trader Joes, but she believes and Stiles will give her points for that.

 

“You can’t just----There are _rules_.”

 

“Clearly I can,” Stiles says easily, leaning against the entrance of the bridge. “Because I just did.” Derek’s still filming, eyes glued to the camera screen, face stretched into a moue. “And those rules were written by humans. Why would a demon care about them?”

 

“But it worked just as well as the invocation,” he says, pulling his gaze away from the camera just long enough to catch Stiles. “Which is to say - it didn’t work at all.”

 

“Patience is a virtue,” Stiles tells him, quietly, and winks at the camera.

 

“A human virtu---”

He cracks the glass on the light post with nothing but  thought before Derek can finish speaking. He can’t have them thinking it didn’t work, now can he? It bursts spectacularly in a spill of blue-white heat. The grunty little shadow demons sniff at it where the darkness spills over, scratching at it like a dog begging to be let outside. He won’t let them in, won’t let them fall into the light, but he lets them _play_.  Fuckin’ puppies.

 

Cora’s face will match Erica’s tomorrow. This is all she needed.

 

“Derek, Derek, Derek, are you getting this?” She chants, and he can see her in the empty blackness, clinging to Derek’s arm, jiggling the camera. Derek is still frowning, holding himself perfectly still as the shadows shift and sway around him. “Do you hear that?”

 

 _Scratch. Scratch. Scratch._ The bridge trembles faintly.

 

Stiles flicks open his lighter, the smooth steel cold in his warm palms, and the flame flickers and shifts as he lights a cigarette. “You were saying, _Derek_?”

 

“The cleansing spell,” Erica finds her voice, rustling a piece of neatly folded printer paper from her bra. “We should do the---”

 

“I’ll do the honors,” Stiles swoops in, taking the paper before she can protest. He gives it a once over, humming and nodding; typical spell to de-spell, your standard first year Harry Potter shit. He lets his cigarette rest at the corner of his mouth, bobbing as he speaks. _"Egredere de mortali campi area sustentare transfretandum ultra redeundi. Unde sitis: discedite a est, et nihil mali manent. Recesserimus demon terrae huius purificationis eius. Et pater et mater, et Spiritus Sancti. Et abierunt "._

 

Stiles’ Latin is flawless. Crisp and clean, a milk tongue as much as any.  It's his language, born from his tongue and kissed into mortal mouths.“ _Relinquo,_ ” he says before switching to English. “ _Seriously_ , get the fuck out.” The shadow demons do, scampering away like he’s kicked at them. They scatter,  frightened little bunnies, into the shadows.

 

Cora flicks on the lantern hanging from Derek’s backpack, a blue plastic thing that spills a bright, white light. Modern technology is an absolute marvel. “So what? You’re a demon hunter too?”

 

He laughs, smoke spilling from his mouth in sharp, little puffs. “Yeah. Something like that.”

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
